There was a jar
filled with Ring Pops
that she would always
pull out for me.
Don’t tell your mother,
or she would kill me,
she laughed.
There was a
stream in the backyard,
and I used to pretend
I was in Bridge to Terabithia,
beside the girl,
dying, of course.
My aunt’s old room
was filled with Beatles posters,
and an elliptical from the 70s.
I never saw my mom’s room.
It’s funny, I said to her,
Your hair didn’t used
to be red.
She would smile that smile.
The house was sold and they
decided to move to
an apartment,
where I slept on
their pullout couch and
ate Fruit Loops.
Don’t tell your mother
she whispered. It’s
our little secret.